Combustible
by StarBurnedOut
Summary: As Scott struggles with his developing feelings for Malia, a new threat comes to town and targets Parrish.
1. 01

**01**

"Scott. Wake up."

The voice, soft but insistent, filtered through Scott's sleep-fogged brain, drawing him back to consciousness. Cracking his eyes open, he smacked his lips together, then rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve a dull ache at the base of his neck. Squinting, he craned his neck and looked around, momentarily unsure of where he was. It took a second for his memories to catch up to reality, but when he spotted a familiar figure standing next to him, he let out a little groan and let his head fall back.

"Ah, crap. I fell asleep again, didn't I?"

"Yep," Malia confirmed, smirking as she shoved his feet off the couch and claimed the spot they'd been occupying. "You made it almost halfway through this time though. That's farther than I thought you'd get."

He just grunted as he sat up and leaned forward, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. It was the third time he'd tried to watch her favourite movie with her, and the third time he hadn't been able to stay awake through the whole thing. In his defense, falling asleep during late night movie marathons with her was something he did fairly often, a trend she was fully aware of. They'd certainly had enough of them over the past weeks, months, little welcome escapes from studying as he tried his best to help her with school and graduation.

"Sorry," he muttered, stretching his arms until he heard and felt a satisfying crack. "I'll finish it next time, I promise."

"Sure, just like you promised this time."

There was no heat in her words, just a teasing edge, and he couldn't help but grin. That was Malia. He'd developed a real appreciation for her as they'd grown closer to each other, partly for the sharp sense of humour and playfulness she tended to bury under her bluntly aggressive exterior.

If he was being honest with himself, it was a little more than an appreciation. When he was by himself, it was easier to admit the truth. That he enjoyed being around her, with her, as often as he could. That he'd been growing closer to her over the summer, and even beyond that, back during the whole situation with the Wild Hunt. That when she wasn't around, his thoughts tended to stray to her, to what she was doing, to when he'd see her next. That when he went to bed, closed his eyes, it was her face he saw, her voice he heard. That when he had nothing to do and reached for his phone, hers was always the first name he scrolled to, before Stiles, before Lydia, before anybody else. That every time she smiled at him, touched him, he felt that tell-tale swooping sensation in his stomach he hadn't felt since he'd ended things with Kira.

He knew what it was, what it meant.

Unfortunately, when he was with her, which was more often than not these days, the words just wouldn't come out. He wasn't really sure why. He must have made up his mind to say something a dozen times already. He knew exactly what he wanted with her, what direction he desperately desired to take their relationship in. But there was always some complication to avoid, some reason why things were better off as they were. Some excuse not to make a move. And so he kept his feelings to himself, they stayed friends, and the same remained the same.

Stretching again, his mouth opened wide in a massive yawn, then twisted into a frown. "Why'd you wake me up?"

"Why?" She smirked. "Were you having a nice dream?" When he just rolled his eyes, she huffed out an amused breath and shook her head. "Your phone was going off." Leaning forward, she snagged it off the coffee table and handed it to him.

"You could have checked it," he said, accepting it from her and unlocking it. "It's probably just my mom. Oh, no, wait, it's Lydia." His brow furrowed slightly as he scanned through the two missed calls and six texts she'd left him in the last ten minutes, all urgent prompts for him to call her back. As he reached the last one, another one came through, this time in all caps. "What the hell?"

"What's up?"

"She wants me to call her. Like, really bad."

"Maybe she's just lonely," Malia offered hopefully, as she lifted up slightly and tucked her legs underneath herself. "It's been a whole week since Stiles left. I went to her house for lunch yesterday, and she would _not_ let me leave. I seriously considered climbing out her window when she was in the bathroom."

He raised an eyebrow and turned his phone around so she could see the screen. "That look like loneliness to you?"

"No," she admitted, whole body slumping as an annoyed frown spread across her face. "It looks like trouble. Damn it. We were doing so well. I haven't had to clean blood out of my clothes in, like, a month."

Shaking his head, he let out an amused snort as he called Lydia, who picked up almost instantly. "Scott!" Just the way she said his name had his heart sinking. There was a certain mix of terror and panic in her voice that she only seemed to get when her Banshee powers were working overtime. "Parrish is in trouble."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know! I woke up and I just knew something was wrong. I called Sheriff Stilinski, but he said Jordan was off-duty and he couldn't get in touch with him and I don't know who else to call and my car is in the shop and—"

"Lydia! Stop!" She fell silent as soon as he barked out her name, and even Malia's eyes widened a little at his sudden outburst. He didn't like taking such a harsh tone with his friend, but he could hear the panic growing in her voice, and if Parrish really was in trouble, her freaking out now wasn't going to do anybody any favours. "Calm down, take a deep breath. I'm sure he's fine. He's a Hellhound," he reasoned, lowering his voice, trying to keep it as soft, as soothing as possible.

"Scott." This time, her voice, while still shot through with an undercurrent of terror that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, was barely above a whisper. "I think he's _dying_."

There was no way he could take that lightly, not with her power, her history. Hellhound or not, Parrish was a friend, and her record with this kind of thing just couldn't be ignored. "Okay, okay. What do you want to do?"

"Are you at home?"

"No, I'm with Malia. We're at her place."

"Good. That'll save time." There was a hint of relief in her voice for the first time. "Can the two of you come pick me up. I think... I think I can find him. There's something pulling me..." She trailed off, voice losing focus as it softened. "Just—just get here quick. _Please_."

Malia was already up and heading for the door when he looked up. "You catch all that?" he asked as he stood and slid his phone into his pocket.

"Yeah." She grabbed her keys off the counter as he fell into step behind her. "Let's go."

 **-l-l-l-l-**

Lydia was waiting outside her front door when they pulled into her driveway, pacing back and forth, hands clasped together. As soon as they stopped, she wasted no time in sliding into the backseat, already urging Malia to drive before the door was fully closed. "Head north," she commanded, settling back into the seat as they took off.

Turning in his seat, Scott took a second to look over his friend. What he saw concerned him. She looked ruffled, out of sorts. Out of all his friends, she was the one who knew how to hold it together under the worst circumstances. But not tonight. He knew how much care she put into maintaining her appearance, and though he'd seen her at less than her best more than a few times over the years, it was still a little jarring to see her hair so out of place, her clothing wrinkled and carelessly thrown on. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying, though she wasn't now.

"Turn here." She leaned forward to stare out the windshield, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead. "Faster!"

"Lydia," he said softly, repeating it a second later when her eyes remained glued to the road. "It'll be all right." He extended his hand toward her, palm up, and she grasped onto it tight, squeezing hard, like she was afraid if she let go, something horrible would happen. When her eyes finally centered on his, he smiled reassuringly. "It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be fine. Okay?" He held her gaze until she nodded, slowly, hesitantly.

"Did you see any specifics?" Malia asked, eyeing her in the rear-view mirror.

"I didn't _see_ anything. I just _know_ something is wrong! I can _feel_ it! I—left! Go left!" She leaned forward so far, she was almost in the front of the car with them as she pointed out where to turn.

As they tore down the narrow side-street, Scott turned back around and looked out his own window. He knew the area pretty well, well enough to know there was no good reason for anyone to be out there. They were almost on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, where all there was were some cheap motels and second-rate fast food joints and dive bars. He had no idea what Parrish would have been doing out here, especially if he wasn't working. There were better places to go for food, and he didn't seem the type to spend much time in nameless motels or bars.

"Stop!"

The sudden shriek from the backseat had him cringing and reaching for his ears, even as Malia pulled off to the shoulder of the road, just before a dimly-lit intersection. They both turned in their seats to look at Lydia, but she ignored them, already reaching for the door handle. Before he could catch her, she opened it and darted out onto the dark street. Cursing under his breath, he went after her, trailing along behind as she headed for the sidewalk, running a lot faster than he would have expected for somebody with legs as short as hers.

"Where's she going?" Malia called, hot on his heels as they pounded after her.

Before he could respond, Lydia abruptly halted, right in the middle of a nearly-empty parking lot. He stopped behind her, watching closely as she turned in a circle, eyes open wide and staring. Malia came up beside him and he motioned for her to stay quiet, both looking on as their friend scanned around the lot, an expression of intense concentration on her face, searching for whatever was calling to her.

"There!" she cried, taking off again in the direction of the motel. This time, she stopped beside a dark SUV parked right outside the building, under a flickering light. "This is his car," she said as she circled the vehicle, shaking her head. "But he's not here. He's not here. He's not here."

Hearing the rising edge of panic in her repeated words, Scott quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders from behind and pulled her close, hoping a physical connection might keep her grounded. It seemed to work, because she didn't lose it, just shrinking back into him as she stared at the SUV, trembling. Catching Malia's eye, he nodded toward the car, and she immediately went to work, slowly making her way around it, checking for any signs of what may have happened to Parrish.

"I found his phone, but it's locked," she said, once she was finished. Stepping back over to them, she handed it to him and he briefly examined it, before sliding it into his pocket. Looking back at the SUV, she frowned and shook her head. "There's nothing here. But... do you smell that?"

"Yeah," he replied grimly, mirroring her expression as he met her gaze. "Blood."

"Jordan's blood?" Lydia's voice was small, scared, as she clutched at his arm with both hands.

"Maybe," he said softly. "It's really weak, so it's kind of hard to tell."

"No fire or smoke," Malia noted, as she turned to consider the car again, eyes narrowed. "If he was attacked, you'd expect fire, right? I mean, Hellhound, fire. It's sort of his thing."

He shrugged. "Maybe they knocked him out."

"Can you track it?" The soft question drew their attention back to Lydia, who was still staring, unblinking, at the abandoned SUV. "His blood. Can you track it?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said slowly, after considering it for a moment. The scent wasn't very strong, either because there wasn't a lot of blood or because too much time had passed, but it was still there. He wasn't about to hand out any guarantees, but if it stayed at least this strong, he thought there was a pretty decent chance he'd be able to follow it. Meeting Malia's gaze, he gestured for her to take Lydia. "You two wait here while I go. And call the Sheriff. And maybe Liam." More back-up definitely couldn't hurt.

Crossing her arms, she scoffed and levelled a defiant look at him. "Fat chance, Scott. If there's somebody out there who can take out a Hellhound, there's no way I'm letting you go alone." Her tone was hard, her expression set.

"We're all going," Lydia stated before he could argue, the finality in her suddenly stronger voice leaving no room for debate. "Now, let's go!"

At her urging, he moved closer to the SUV and found the spot where the scent was strongest. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath through his nose, making sure he had the best possible handle on the blood, as Malia did the same thing next to him. Once he was sure, he caught her eye, and when she nodded firmly, he turned and began to follow the trail, heading toward the far side of the lot. She stayed at his side as Lydia stuck close behind them, eyes darting around like she was expecting, hoping the missing deputy would appear out of the dark at any second.

The scent remained strong enough to follow as they passed out of the lot and onto the road running along its right side. It was slow going, but the lack of people in the area helped a bit, keeping the competing smells down. They crossed the road into another parking lot, this one outside a twenty-four hour convenience store. The trail led around back behind the building and up to a chain-link fence.

"He was definitely here," Scott said, stopping next to it and running his hand over the cold metal links.

"How can you tell?"

"He left something behind." Reaching out, Malia snagged the torn piece of fabric that was stuck to a sharp edge on the top of the fence and held it up for Lydia to see. "Looks like part of a shirt. And there's definitely blood on it."

"Still no fire though," he muttered, as he led them toward the opening in the fence. "Why didn't he fight? He made the decision to jump over this, so he must have been conscious. Why run? Why not fight?"

It was a good question, but one he didn't expect any answer to. Mostly because there was no good answer. He knew Parrish well enough to know the man wasn't afraid of much. Even before he became a Hellhound, he was disarming bombs for the military. With the supernatural upgrade, he was basically a walking, talking inferno with super strength and near-invulnerability. He'd taken on the Beast repeatedly and never flinched or backed down. Anything that could make a man like that run wasn't something he was sure he wanted to meet.

Behind the fence was a narrow strip of pavement that ended where it met a line of trees. The group didn't hesitate, leaving behind the flickering streetlights and rundown buildings as they stepped into the woods. Scott glowed his eyes immediately, as the moon was obscured by the branches over their heads, blanketing them all in darkness. He felt Lydia tense up behind him, basically blind, and slowed his pace so she could stick as close as possible.

The farther the trio went, the stronger the scent of blood got, to the point he began to worry the Hellhound might actually bleed out before they could find him. Beside him, Malia's head was on a swivel, her posture tense, the blood putting her on edge. Without thought, he reached out and took her hand in his, only realising what he'd done when she squeezed softly. Suddenly, he was thankful for the darkness, because it was a lot easier to not get flustered when he could pretend she couldn't just look over and see him.

Abruptly, she stopped in her tracks, dragging him to a halt. "Do you hear that?"

Tilting his head, he concentrated, trying to hear whatever noise she'd picked up on. A second later, he heard it. Somebody was breathing, slow and shallow, each breath bubbling out with a disturbingly wet sound.

"Through here."

Releasing her hand, he darted forward, relying on his reflexes to keep him on his feet as he dodged through the trees, heading for the source of the breathing. He could hear the two girls behind him, but he was quicker, crashing through branches and leaves, until he suddenly emerged in a moon-lit clearing and found what he was looking for. Across from him, lying face-down in a shallow trench that might have been a creek if it had rained lately, was the missing deputy. And even in the dark, and from a distance, Scott could see how badly he was hurt. He was shirtless, his back a bloody mass of cuts and gashes. But worse than that was the back of his neck and head. It looked like somebody had taken a knife to it, carving him up like a piece of meat.

"Oh, Jesus, man." He could hear the dread in his own voice, even as he raced across the clearing and fell to his knees next to the man. Up close, it was even worse. He grimaced as he looked down at the mess that had been the back of Parrish's head, hands out to his sides as he tried to figure out what to do with them, hesitant to touch him, to make things any worse. "Ah, shit!"

"Scott? Is he there? Did you find him?"

Before he could stop them, his friends burst into the clearing and bee-lined toward him. Malia took one look and immediately stopped short, reaching out to grab Lydia, but she shook her off, continued forward.

"Oh my God," she breathed, expression horrified as she sank down next to him, studying the deputy's fallen form closely. "Is he dead?" Her voice was deceptively calm as she looked down at the horrendous wounds, despite the look on her face and obvious tension in her body.

"No. He's breathing."

"Why isn't he healing?" Malia asked, peering down over Lydia's shoulder. "Shouldn't he be..." She waved her arms around. "Like, on fire or something?"

"I don't know," he said, trying to avoid breathing in too much as the overpowering scent of blood flooded his senses. "Do we—should we try to turn him over?" He looked at Lydia as he asked, but she seemed lost, eyes wide, staring, locked on the brutalised man.

Gritting his teeth, he decided to just go for it, and as gently as he could, he found the least damaged area on the Hellhound's torso and slowly flipped him over onto his back. Immediately, Lydia clapped a hand over her mouth and shrank back. There were two gaping holes in his chest, gunshot wounds, and a thick black liquid, almost like motor oil, was slowly dribbling out of both. Curious, he reached out and got a bit on his finger, then sniffed it gingerly. It didn't have much of a smell, but there was something repulsive about it, something that made a part of him recoil, even though he couldn't place it.

" _Shit_." Malia's sudden curse had him looking up, finding her frowning, brows knit in concern.

"What?"

"His heartbeat. It's getting slower."

He looked back at Parrish, taking note for the first time of his pulse. Sure enough, he could hear it getting weaker, sluggish. They had to act. "Give me a hand to get him up." Crouching down, Malia mirrored the grip he had on the deputy from the other side, as Lydia rose and stepped out of the way. Working as carefully as they could, the gently hoisted him to his feet, taking his weight on themselves as they tried their best not to jar him too much. "Call Deaton," he said as they started forward, moving as quickly as they could under the circumstances. He was a little surprised at how steady his voice was. "Tell him to meet us at the clinic. Tell him—just tell him we need him."

Pulling out her phone with shaky hands, Lydia did as she was asked, while he concentrated on the path ahead. He could feel the blood on his arm, still dripping from Parrish's wounds, and grimaced. The Hellhound's heartbeat was growing steadily weaker, his breathing more laboured, shallower.

"Come on," he muttered, looking at Malia and seeing the same anxiety, the same fear clouding his mind mirrored in her eyes. "Just hold on, man. Just hold on."

* * *

 _ **AN:** Not a one-shot this time, but probably not a very long story. I'm thinking five, maybe six chapters for this one, though I make no guarantees. I wanted to do something with Parrish, and Hellhounds in general, and I figured I could weave a little Scott/Malia love in there along the way too. I've been going pretty heavy on the romance lately, so the action part of me wanted to get a little bloody again, so that'll come along soon enough. Let me know what you think._

 _ **Update (2019/02/10):** I'm finally looking at completing this story, and I've done a few edits to move that process along. None of the main plot points have changed, but I've touched up the first two chapters a bit and moved the story slightly farther along than it originally was, so rereading probably isn't the worst idea if it's been awhile for you. The plan is still to do more action than I've done in other stories, but we'll see how it plays out._


	2. 02

**02**

When they pulled up to the animal clinic, Deaton was already outside, waiting for them in the parking lot. He stood back as Scott and Malia pulled Parrish from the back of the SUV, then went ahead opening doors as they carried him into the back room and laid him out on the examination table. They both moved away to give the veterinarian space then as he pulled on some latex gloves and went to work, looking over the wounded deputy.

"Has he regained consciousness at all since you found him?" he asked as flipped on the overhead light so he could get a better look at his patient's injuries.

"No," Scott replied, wincing a little when some experimental prodding around the edge of one of the bullet holes prompted more of the unidentified black liquid to dribble out. "What _is_ that?"

"I'm not sure." Deaton's voice was soft as he studied the strange substance, curiosity twisting his face. Like Scott had done earlier, he cautiously sniffed at it, only to frown a second later. "Not much of a scent to it. It appears to be plant-based. Some type of poison, perhaps." He paused and looked up, expression turning speculative. "It might explain why he isn't healing. It's somehow suppressing his body's natural defences, not unlike the effect wolfsbane can have on you."

"You think we should we try to burn it out?"

He shook his head as he leaned over to examine the wounds again. "No, I don't think that would be a wise course of action. At least not until we know more. Any substance that's so effective on a Hellhound might have some kind of... adverse reaction to flame."

"We have to do something!" Lydia cried, clutching the edge of the examination table hard as she stared at the veterinarian through wide eyes. "He's _dying_!"

Rather than replying, he waved his hand toward a tray of instruments behind her. "Can you hand me those forceps, please?" As she did, he continued on with, "I think the bullets may have been laced with the poison. It appears to only be coming from where he was shot. If I can get them out, that may have some kind of positive effect on him."

Taking the surgical instrument in hand, he slowly began to root around in the lower of the two holes, searching for the slug buried inside. Silence reigned as he concentrated on the task at hand, all three teenagers watching closely. Scott could only grimace at the unpleasant sounds of the work, magnified by the quiet around them. Looking for a distraction, he scanned the room. Lydia was focused entirely on the procedure, watching his hands like a hawk, her own fingers once again white-knuckle gripping the edge of the table. Next to him, Malia was leaning back against the wall, looking almost bored with the whole situation. But he could see the sporadic clenching of her jaw, the way she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, telling nervous tics he'd begun to recognise as they grew closer and spent more time together.

"Almost... have... it," Deaton muttered through clenched teeth, as he finally got a grip on the bullet. "There!"

The second he removed the slug, Parrish's torso jerked up off the table, back arching in a deep bow. He and Lydia both leapt back, eyes wide, as Scott took a step forward, but it was over just as quickly as it began, the Hellhound's body settling back down and lying still again.

For a second, nobody moved or spoke, all just staring, unsure of exactly what had just happened. "Well," Deaton finally said, breaking the silence as he dropped the bullet in a nearby glass container, "that was... interesting. Let's try for the second one, shall we?"

This time, as the vet carefully tried to retrieve the other slug, everybody stayed on guard, watching closely for any sort of reaction. Belatedly, Scott realised the Hellhound's heartbeat was stronger now, steadier than it had been. "I think it's working," he said, taking another step forward, head tilted, listening carefully. "His pulse is getting stronger."

"Just as I suspected. The bullets must be coated in—ah, got it!" As soon as he pulled the bullet out, both he and Lydia stepped back from the table. But there was no immediate reaction this time, and after a second, everybody relaxed. Scott stepped up to fill his spot next to the table as Deaton held up the slug to the light, squinting, peering closely at it. "There's definitely some odd discolouration on this," he said softly, almost to himself, as Malia stepped around him, joining the others at the table. "It appears to have been grooved to hold the poison better."

Turning, Scott looked at his boss, curious. "Have you ever heard of anything that can do this to a Hellhound?" It was unnerving to think there was something out there that could so easily subdue Parrish, after watching him take on the Beast alone and hold his own. He knew first-hand just how much it took to go one-on-one with a creature like that and walk away, memories of the thrashing he'd taken at the hands of the monstrous werewolf still vivid in his mind.

"I haven't," Deaton replied, still studying the bullet, "but I don't know everything, unfortunately. Prior to meeting the deputy here, I'd never even seen a Hellhound in person." He paused, pursing his lips. "Perhaps Argent might know something more. Could you contact him?"

Nodding, Scott took out his phone and scrolled to Argent's number. Head down, he was focused on texting, and had no idea what was happening behind him. The only warning something was wrong came in the form of a sharp gasp from Lydia. Almost instantly, somebody collided heavily with him from behind, throwing him to the floor, covering his body with their own. Confused and caught off-guard, he had about half a second to wonder why Malia had just tackled him before the world suddenly erupted in a flash of painfully bright light and searing heat. It was over quick, an explosion of blazing flame that roared through the room like a tidal wave, blowing out every window, shattering every piece of glass. And then it was gone, leaving behind only darkness and the pungent odour of sulfur hanging heavy in the scorched air.

The sudden flood of sensory input left him completely out of it, so even when the light and sound faded, all he could do was lie there, disoriented, breathing laboured. He could feel Malia's weight pinning him down, her heartbeat hammering in her chest as her own breaths came short and choppy in his ear.

"Are you all right?" she gasped out after a moment, as she slowly pushed herself up off him and rose to her feet.

"I think so." Grimacing, he rolled over and grabbed her offered hand, letting her pull him back up to his feet. The sudden movement had his head spinning, so he closed his eyes tight and waited for the sensation to pass. Once it did, he looked around the dark room, unable to see anything by the dull orange light filtering through the shattered windows from the street outside. "Lydia? Deaton? Are you all right?"

"We're okay," was Lydia's quick response, from somewhere across the room. She sounded a little strained, but otherwise fine. "Deaton hit his head, but I think he's fine."

"I am." There was an undercurrent of pain in the veterinarian's voice, but he sounded calm, collected, and Scott let out a little sigh of relief.

Before any of them could say anything else, a low growl suddenly rang out, echoing through the destroyed room. As Scott turned to look, he saw two fiery orange spots suddenly appear in the center of the room. Eyes.

"Parrish," he said softly, taking a step toward the Hellhound, glowing his own eyes to try and see what was happening.

In that instant, three things happened. The first was a sudden burst of light flaring to life as Deaton found a flashlight in one of the drawers across the room and flicked it on. The second was the sound of the front door opening, followed by heavy footsteps as somebody raced through the clinic, heading towards them. The third was the deputy attempted to get off the table, only to immediately pitch forward, his legs unable to support him. Scott darted forward and managed to catch him before he hit the ground. As he got under his arm, taking his weight on himself, he looked toward the doorway. The beam of the flashlight redirected there a second later, revealing the worried face of Sheriff Stilinski.

"What the hell was that?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"It was Jordan." Scott looked toward Lydia, who was standing to his right, still on the other side of the table. "I think when we pulled the second bullet out, there was a... release of power or something. I saw his eyes glow, and then..." She trailed off, looking around the destroyed room.

"Sorry." The Hellhound's voice was a harsh croak, barely intelligible.

"It's all right," Deaton said, making his way over to them and clasping a hand to his shoulder. "I do have insurance," he joked lightly as he gave him a quick once-over under the light of the flashlight. "Can you get him out into the other room? I need more light."

Slowly, Scott half-walked, half-carried his burden toward the doorway, taking almost all the his weight on himself. He could feel the frustration growing in the man, whose legs just refused to stay steady beneath him. When he drew level with the door, Stilinski moved around the other side, and between the two of them, they got him out into the waiting room and sat him down in one of the chairs next to the clinic's main entrance. As they backed away, the vet turned the lights on, flooding the room with bright light.

Wincing, Scott blinked to clear the spots from his vision as his boss moved around him to get to his patient. Behind him, he heard Lydia gasp, and when his vision returned, he immediately saw why. The holes in Parrish's chest were gone, covered over with smooth, unmarked skin. There was a little ash on him and dirt and leaves from where they'd found him in the woods, but his wounds were gone, healed.

Deaton, kneeling on the floor next to him, reached out and gently pressed where the holes had been. "Well, that's a good sign," he remarked when Parrish didn't react. Standing, the vet circled around him and slowly tilted his head forward, examining the back of his neck. After a moment, he smiled and nodded. "Completely healed. It looks like your powers have returned."

"Yeah? Then why am I so weak?" the deputy asked, eyes barely opened as he looked up. "I feel like... I don't know. Like I haven't slept in a week or something."

Pursing his lips, Deaton considered the question for a moment. "Well, there are still traces of whatever substance did this to you in your body," he said slowly, more like he was thinking out loud than actually responding to the question. "I removed the original source, which has allowed some of your power to return, but it may take your body a little while to work the remnants out of your system. If that's the case, I'd imagine your strength would slowly return over the next few hours, or perhaps days."

"Days?" There was a note of disbelief in Parrish's tone, though it was mostly lost under the sheer exhaustion weighing it down.

"Just a guess," he replied, shrugging. "It could be longer. It could be shorter. I have no familiarity with whatever substance was used on you. I'm sorry."

"Parrish," Stilinski interjected abruptly, frustration colouring his voice. "What happened to you?"

"Good question." Lydia stepped forward, kneeling next to the Hellhound's chair and looking up into his face. "You nearly died, Jordan. I felt it. What happened?"

For a moment, he remained stubbornly silent, his reluctance to speak clear in how he looked away from her, directing his gaze to a point on the far wall. Frowning, Scott moved forward, positioning himself behind her, giving him no safe place to aim his gaze.

"I was attacked," he finally admitted, all the fight abruptly going out of him.

"No shit." Malia stepped up next to him and crossed her arms. "Be more specific." Scott turned and arched an eyebrow at her, getting a shrug in return. "What? Don't tell me you don't want to know exactly what happened. He was _really_ messed up."

He couldn't argue with that. Turning back to Parrish, he caught his eye and held it until the deputy blinked and looked away. "Come on, man," he said softly. "We can't help if you don't tell us what happened."

"Okay, all right." Closing his eyes, Parrish leaned his head back against the wall behind him and let out a weary sigh. "It was a group. Not human. Werewolves, maybe, or some other kind of shifter. Strong. I got a call from an informant of mine asking to meet him at a motel. When I got there, they were waiting. I took a shot, here." His hand slowly moved to his chest, rubbing the spot where the lower of the two bullets had been. "I tried to fight, but I was weak. I ran. They followed. They caught up to me in the woods and..." His voice had been growing steadily fainter as he spoke, and trailed off completely then.

"Jordan?" Lydia, who'd grabbed his free hand, shook it hard. "Jordan? Wake up!" The Hellhound stirred, letting out a little groan as his eyes slowly cracked back open. "Why were they after you?"

"Weren't," he slurred, rapidly losing his battle with exhaustion.

A frustrated growl suddenly sounded through the room, and Scott turned toward Malia just in time to watch as she moved forward, claws out. All he could do was wince as she crouched and drove her claws into Parrish's leg. His eyes shot open and he let out a growl of his own as he tensed up, the sudden pain doing what Lydia's cries hadn't been able to.

"Who were they after?" she prompted as she pulled her claws free and flicked his blood onto the floor.

"Markus," he gasped out, rubbing at his injured leg. "They're after Markus."

There was a second of confused silence after that. Then, "Who the hell is Markus?" Scott didn't have an answer for Malia. Neither did Deaton when she looked at him. Or the Sheriff, a shrug his only response to her questioning look. "Parrish! Who's Markus?"

"Hellhound, like me." He sat up a little straighter in his chair, head lolling back and forth a bit, like he didn't have the strength to keep it steady. His hands moved to the arms of his chair, grasping onto it with everything he had left, trying to stay upright. "He came to me last week. He was being hunted, had been for a long time. Wanted me to hide him, so I did." He paused there, and for a second, looked like he was about to pass out again. But after giving his head a little shake, he managed to press on. "He told me they'd come. They knew I was a Hellhound. Set me up. Tortured me. But I didn't crack. Still safe."

"Did he tell you who they are?" It was alarming to think there was a group in his town hunting Hellhounds, something he wouldn't have even thought possible just a few hours ago. It was one thing to encounter one and have to fight it, but to actively seek them out was another thing entirely.

"No. Doesn't know. Been running." His eyes, drooping slightly as he started to fade again, flickered over to the Sheriff. "Safe house on Miller Road. I brought him there. Told him not to leave for anything. Told him..." He trailed off, eyes closing.

"You brought him to a police safe house?" Rising, Lydia turned and looked toward the rest of the group with wide eyes. "They used an informant to set him up. They have to know he's a cop. How hard could it be to figure out where he'd hide somebody?"

But the Sheriff was shaking his head. "That one's... off the books. There's no way they could know about it."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"That's a relief." Looking at Parrish, who was still struggling to stay awake, he grimaced, recalling the brutal mess they'd made of his head and neck, on top of the shots. "You didn't see what they did to him. It was..." He trailed off and shook his head. "If their target is this Markus guy, I'd hate to see what they'll do to him if they catch him."

For a moment, everybody was silent, staring at the deputy. Scott was going over options in his mind, trying to figure out what to do next. Obviously they had to help this other Hellhound. He wasn't just going to let the guy die, or get carved up like Parrish. But there was a group out there with an unknown number of people, with unknown powers, and the capability to completely neutralise an extremely powerful being with very little apparent effort. Even if he could somehow find them, and he had no idea where to even start with that, he couldn't just jump into a fight with them, not without more information.

"All right," he finally said, after letting out a heavy sigh, looking around the room at everybody. "For tonight, we can take him to my house. It'll be safer there, behind the mountain ash. I mean, they probably think he's dead, but why take any chances?" He got a bunch of nods in return. "I'll try and get in touch with Argent, see if maybe he knows something about this group. Sheriff, here." He took Parrish's phone from his pocket and handed it over. "Maybe try to find the informant guy who set him up. He might be able to tell us something. Other than that..." He shrugged. "I don't know. Suggestions?"

"Should we check on this other Hellhound?" Stilinski asked.

Deaton, who'd been leaning against the wall next to the door now that his patient was on the way to recovery, stepped forward. "It might be best to wait," he advised. "Parrish says he didn't give up anything to his attackers, and you're right, Scott, they probably think he's dead. But that doesn't mean they aren't aware of us. They could be watching, and we could lead them right to Markus."

Scott's eyes involuntarily darted to the door then, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. "You think that's likely?"

Deaton shrugged, pursing his lips. "I think it's a possibility, one we shouldn't overlook."

Scott looked around at his friends, waiting for confirmations from each before he nodded curtly. "Okay. We'll wait. Tomorrow, when things have calmed down a bit, we'll figure out what to do next, all right?"

With a plan to act on, even if it was a little vague, it gave everybody something to focus on, and they all started moving quickly. Scott, with Malia's help, got Parrish on his feet and headed out to his SUV. Deaton and Lydia followed them out, making the decision to all stay together for the night, the latter because she was still worried about Jordan, and the former because he wanted to observe his patient's further recovery. The Sheriff hung around long enough to make sure they got his deputy safely settled into the back of the SUV, then he headed out to try and find the man who'd helped set him up.

When they left the clinic, Scott stayed with Parrish, Lydia driving the SUV, as Deaton jumped in with Malia, who followed them in her car. The ride went by quickly, the only sound coming from the talk radio station the stereo was already set on. Nobody spoke, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just people lost in their own thoughts.

Once they all reached his house, he and Deaton carried the Hellhound up the walkway while Lydia and Malia left to get rid of his car. They all agreed advertising where the deputy was probably wasn't the greatest idea at the moment.

As they were approaching the door, he felt Parrish start to stir, shifting a little and letting out a little groan. "All right?" he asked softly.

"Been better," was the muttered response. "I've never felt this weak before."

"You'll recover," Deaton said, the trio pausing then as he reached out to open the front door. "Just give it a little time." That drew a grunt from the Hellhound, and silence reigned once again as they manoeuvred him inside, heading upstairs to the spare bedroom. "Your mom is working tonight?" he asked as they laid their burden out on the bed.

"Yeah." Scott pulled out his phone and checked the time. "She'll be home in a couple hours."

"Okay. I'm going to wait downstairs for the girls to get back. Once the barrier is set, I'll be back up to keep an eye on him."

He nodded, sinking into a chair as his boss left the room. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, quiet, staring at nothing, but he must have started to doze off. When Parrish suddenly spoke, it jarred him back to reality, eyes flying open as he sat up straight in his chair.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Oh, yeah, no problem. You should thank Lydia. She's the one who knew something was wrong," he replied, relaxing back into his chair. For a second, he remained quiet, hesitating, before his curiosity got the better of him. "Parrish? Why didn't you come to us from the start?" The question had been on his mind since the clinic, gnawing away at him. He'd thought the man trusted him after fighting beside him for nearly two years, but he hadn't even approached him, choosing to just hide the problem and try to deal with it himself. It didn't sit right with the him. "You know I would have helped."

"Honestly?" Parrish lifted his head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. "I didn't want to make it your problem. You're gonna be out of here in a few months. You're finally getting out of this town, getting away from the... the weird, terrible stuff that happens here, moving on with your life. And I didn't want to drag you back into it. I thought I could handle it, keep you and your friends out of it, safe for once." He shook his head, frowned. "I guess I was wrong. But I'd do it the same way again. You're don't have to be responsible for every supernatural thing that happens here. This shouldn't have been your problem."

Before Scott could reply, he heard the door open downstairs, followed by the low chatter of voices. "The girls are back," he said softly, rising to his feet. "Get some sleep, man. We'll figure everything out tomorrow."

On his way down, he passed Deaton on the stairs, exchanging nods with the man as they went in opposite directions. Pausing at the bottom of the staircase, he saw Lydia had already claimed the couch, curled up on one side, legs folded under her as she fiddled with her phone. He watched her for a second, relieved to see her panic and fear from earlier in the night was mostly gone. Then his eyes found Malia, leaning against the wall and looking back at him like she'd been waiting for him.

"Parrish is settled in," he said softly, crossing the room to her. As he sank back against the wall next to her, she bumped his shoulder with hers, briefly drawing a smile before he sighed and shook his head. "I asked him why he didn't come to us with this in the first place."

Lydia looked up from her phone, curiosity written all over her face. "Why didn't he?"

He sighed and flashed her a humourless smile. "He was trying to keep us out of it. Didn't want to drag us into anything, especially Hellhound stuff. He figures we're on the way out, so we shouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing anymore."

Malia scoffed. "That's dumb. We're his friends. He should have said something."

"Yeah..."

He trailed off, not quite sure how to feel about the whole situation. A part of him understood what Parrish had been trying to do, and even appreciated it in a way. There was a time not so long ago he would have given just about anything to have somebody else deal with things, let him, his friends just try to be regular people, live their lives. But that time had passed.

Beacon Hills was his _home_. It wasn't some misguided sense of duty or obligation that drove him to protect it. He did it because he wanted to, because he could, because he had both the desire to keep people safe and the power to make sure they were. It would always be his city, no matter where he ended up, and he'd always be there for it, for the people who lived there whenever he was needed. That's just who and how he was. Even if he wasn't living in Beacon Hills, he knew, deep down inside, he'd never truly leave. Its problems would always be his, because he refused to stand down when there was something, anything he could do to help, and that's just the way it was.

"We're involved now, so I guess it doesn't matter." Reaching up, he rubbed at his aching temples and let out a heavy sigh. "I think—" He cut off as Lydia suddenly yawned, the realisation of just how late it was abruptly dawning on him. "Never mind. You two should get some sleep."

"Good idea." Malia stepped away from the wall and gestured to the floor next to the couch. "You got some blankets or something?"

"Just take my bed." She arched an eyebrow, prompting him to shrug. "I've gotta stay up anyway. I've still gotta talk to Argent, and I wanna let my mom know what's going on before she sees everybody's here and freaks out. And I did have a nap earlier, remember?" She let out an amused huff. "Really, it's cool. If I really need to, I can just crash in my chair."

She looked at him for a second, frowning, then shrugged and headed for the stairs. He watched her back until she disappeared from sight, then made his way to the closet to grab some blankets for Lydia.

"Thanks," she said softly, shooting him a grateful smile when he returned with an armful of linens and set them down on the coffee table. "What a night, huh?"

He snorted as he dropped down heavily next to her on the couch. "Yeah, you could say that." He waited a beat. "Are you okay?" At her bemused look, he shrugged sheepishly. "You were... you were really upset earlier, and I hate seeing that. But you're okay now, right?"

"Yeah, Scott, I'm okay" she said through a smile as she slid her hand over his where it rested on the couch between them and squeezed softly. "I'll be okay. It just hits hard, y'know? I get these feelings, and it's like I know what's gonna happen, but I also really don't. It's like a picture that's right in front of me, and I can see it, but I can't make out the details no matter how hard I try. It's this weird combination of terror and dread and frustration and it's... it's like a punch to the heart. And I just—after everything we've been through, the thought of losing another friend is just..." She trailed off, lips briefly twisting in a heavy frown, before she shook herself and met his eyes again. "But I'm okay. We didn't lose anybody. Jordan's fine. And we'll deal with whoever hurt him. Just like we always do, right?"

They shared a weary smile, then he gestured toward the phone clutched in her free hand. "Stiles?"

"Yeah." She glanced down at her phone and sighed. "I just—I needed to know he was okay. I wanted to call him, but it's, like, four in the morning in Virginia right now."

"Did he text back?"

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and snorted. "Yeah. He was half-asleep, so it was just some gibberish but it's enough for now. I'll call him tomorrow. I'll probably be less likely to completely break down by then."

"Silver-lining?" he offered, drawing a faint smile from her. "All right." Reaching over, he patted her shoulder gently. "I'm gonna let you get some sleep."

"Good night, Scott."

Retreating into the dark kitchen, he took a seat at the table, and took a second to just appreciate the stillness, the quiet, after such a hectic night. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a second, then slowly let it out. It was so quiet, he could hear every heartbeat in the house, slow, calm, as everybody finally relaxed, the adrenaline bleeding out of their systems. But it wasn't time for him yet. He still had things to do, conversations to have, before he could let himself fully unwind.

With that in mind, he took out his phone and sent a text to Argent. If it had been a little earlier, he would have called, but that didn't seem right, considering the time. As bad as it was not knowing what was happening, who the enemy was, it wasn't really an emergency, at least not yet, not enough to justify a late night phone call.

Business taken care of for now, Scott set his phone aside and let his head sink down onto his crossed arms. Closing his eyes, he focused until all he could hear was the steady thrum of Malia's heart coming from up in his room, blocking out everything else, trying to distract himself from his thoughts, his worries, from the headache pounding against the inside of his skull. It helped, pushing away some of the mental noise, but not enough to completely clear his mind.

It was going to be a long night.

 **-l-l-l-l-**

Stifling a yawn, Scott settled into his chair, trying to be as quiet as possible. Malia was curled up on the far side of his bed, breathing deep and even, and he didn't want to disturb her. Considering how worn out he felt, the last thing he wanted was to take any rest away from anybody else.

Even now, as exhausted as he was, he wasn't sure how much sleep was in his immediate future. His mind was still racing, thoughts jumbled, after walking his mom through the events of the night. She'd been predictably concerned, and he'd tried to reassure her, which wasn't the easiest thing to do when he wasn't even really sure exactly what was going on himself. Argent hadn't gotten back to him yet, and until they could talk to Markus, or maybe get more from Parrish, clarity wasn't going to be an easy thing to find. With nothing else to do, he'd said good night and gone upstairs, to the safety of his room, where at least there was some potential for rest.

Except there wasn't really, because he couldn't calm his mind enough to actually sleep. The night had started so well, so comfortable, just hanging out with Malia, eating pizza and watching movies. Easy, simple, it had been the kind of night he lived for these days, the kind of night he looked forward to. And now, just a few hours later, he'd seen one friend out of her mind with worry, and another nearly die. There was some dangerous group somewhere in town, hunting something that no one in their right mind ever would, a potential threat he knew next to nothing about. And there was nothing he could do about it, forced to wait, to see what others might know, or what might happen next.

Leaning forward, he rubbed at his eyes with his palms, then buried his face in his hands and let out a muffled groan.

"You okay?"

Starting suddenly at the unexpected voice, he straightened up, eyes darting to the bed, only to relax a little when he found Malia looking back. "Yeah," he replied quietly, eyes finding hers in the dark. There was just enough moonlight coming through the window to make out her face. "Just... long night, y'know?"

She huffed out a breath. "No kidding. Anything from Argent yet?"

"There wasn't." He reached for his phone, frowning when he saw there were still no messages. "Nope." His frowned deepened when he saw what time it was. "Jesus. It's really late. He's probably sleeping."

"Yeah, probably. And you should be too." Reaching over, she patted the empty space next to her softly. "Come to bed."

He swallowed, shifting in his seat, trying very hard to ignore what hearing her say those words did to him. "Uh, I'm good here, thanks."

"Come on, Scott." He was pretty sure he could hear the eye-roll in her voice. "It's _your_ bed. And it's pretty big. Pretty sure we can share it." He hesitated, just for a second, not entirely sure why he was putting up a fight at all, when his body was screaming for sleep. It wasn't like he was afraid to be near her, to touch her. But there was something about just crawling into bed with her, no matter how innocent it was, that made him extremely nervous. "Seriously. I promise I don't bite."

At that, he snorted and rose to his feet, giving the mental equivalent of a shrug. He needed sleep, and his bed was right there. Everything else was secondary. For now.

"Why don't I believe that?" he asked, kicking off his shoes.

"Because you're smarter than people give you credit for." She flashed him a grin as he stripped off his jeans and chucked them into the laundry basket. "I promise I won't bite _you_ though," she vowed, as he slid into bed next to her, sinking into the mattress with a sigh of relief. She waited a beat while he settled in, the wicked smile never leaving her face, before adding, "Unless you ask me to."

Scott's mouth was already open, a flippant reply to her teasing on the tip of his tongue, when he caught himself. It wasn't the time. Not after the night they'd had. Not with so much uncertainty about what was going on. Not when they were about to share a bed, albeit under a very different circumstance than he'd been thinking about, fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit. Not when he was so mentally exhausted he could barely think straight, when the danger of saying more than he intended was extremely real. Not now.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said instead, as he rolled over, putting his back to her. Now that he was lying down, he could feel sleep coming for him and focused on that, trying to block out how hyper-aware he was of her nearness, her scent, her warmth. "Good night, Malia."

"Good night, Scott."

* * *

 _ **AN:** Made some edits to this one. I realised I'd left it in a weird spot which would have meant doing a strange time-jump early in the next chapter to fit everything in right. So I moved the end along a bit from what was originally written, which will hopefully let me start from a more logical spot next time and keep things a little more streamlined._


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